


The Worst Kept Secret

by pique



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Childishness, Coming Out, Complicated Relationships, Enemies to Lovers, FC Barcelona, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Real Madrid CF, Secret Relationship, Spanish National Team, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-24 18:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10747140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pique/pseuds/pique
Summary: It starts, like many other things in Geri’s life, as a practical joke.





	The Worst Kept Secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MADR1D1SMO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MADR1D1SMO/gifts).



> Here's my Spring Fling 2017 assignment for [MADR1D1SMO](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MADR1D1SMO/pseuds/MADR1D1SMO).
> 
> My original prompt was:
> 
> _Gerard and Sergio have been dating in secret for years, ever since sleeping together after they won the World Cup. No one knows about their secret hook ups and the dates they go on during unsociable hours. They’ve got everybody fooled – or so they think. Iker knows everything… and he has done all along._
> 
> Huge thanks to [Cantilever](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantilever/profile) for beta reading. Your knowledge/input on La Roja history and Iker was invaluable!
> 
> I changed my username, sorry for any confusion :(

_i._  
_Johannesburg, July 11 th, 2010._  
  
It starts, like many other things in Geri’s life, as a practical joke.  
  
He doesn’t remember how he’s found himself walking towards Sergio’s hotel room on what’s probably the most important night of both of their lives. All Geri knows is that this is where he needs to be. Perhaps it’s the South African heat getting to him, but it’s like he’s drawn to Sergio Ramos – a Madridista for crying out loud – like a moth to a flame.

But Ramos doesn’t need to know that yet.

Geri readies himself, giving the champagne bottle another vigorous shake for good measure. This prank, he decides, will make him feel fucking invincible. He watches with increasing anticipation as the door slides open.

“Oh, it’s you.” Sergio wrinkles his nose disgruntledly. “What do you – “

Geri doesn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence. Instead, he pounces.

“Champagne shower!” He yells, popping the cork.

The expensive, fizzy liquid spurts across the room like white seafoam. Its sweet taste fills the air as he breathes it in. Amidst the chaos, Geri can see he’s mere inches away from Sergio’s face. The champagne is drenching him, and his flat, greasy long hair is sticking to his skin. It’s just too perfect, and it was oh so easy.  
  
“Hey puta,” Sergio shouts, snorting liquor out of his nose angrily. “Get over here, so I can kick your Culé ass.”

They chase each other around the small room, and Geri can tell from the way Sergio is swaying that he too is far from sober. He lunges at Geri, pushing him to the floor clumsily. They wrestle amateurishly. Geri’s limbs feel impossibly long and cumbersome to him, yet he slithers out of Sergio’s grip several times. Sergio grabs a plastic water bottle, hurling it in Geri’s direction. If it’s at all possible, he looks even more annoyed when Geri dodges the attack.

Euphoria surges through his veins, making him feel superhuman. “Is that the best you’ve got?” He taunts Sergio.

“I’ll make you sorry when I catch you.” Sergio spits out the words like a man possessed.

This time, Geri allows himself to be caught. He purposely swings and misses at Sergio, dragging his body down on top of his own. The two of them roll around the room, and Geri feels the carpet below them burning his skin. It’s oddly pleasurable. Sergio backs him up against the bathroom door, linking their fingers together as he pins Geri’s hands to the smooth, oak wood. Their eyes meet, and Geri is painfully aware of his stomach knotting tightly.

Sergio too, is dumbfounded as he is trapped under Geri’s gaze. He’s slack-jawed and glassy-eyed. For the briefest of moments Geri is sure he sees the facade slipping away, as though Sergio’s on the verge of breaking down the boundaries they’ve built between them once and for all.

Geri parts his lips suggestively, staring a hole into Ramos. He’s caught completely unaware as the door gives in from behind him, and Iker emerges from the bathroom.

“God dammit, what the hell are you two idiots doing?” His voice cuts right through Geri and Sergio’s moment, and they spring apart, like teenagers caught in a clinch.

Iker steps out further into the bedroom, assessing the scene. Sergio sits on the other side of the room, dazed and sweating with exertion, his eyes half-closed.

“My shirt, you sons of whores!” Iker sprints towards the bedside chair; a freshly pressed shirt has been placed carefully over it. He picks it up and scrutinises it. Geri feels a twinge of guilt as he sees the damp spots on it.

“According to you,” Geri begins. “Everybody’s mother is a whore. The entire Spanish team’s mothers, at the very least.”

Iker’s face does not soften. He grabs a towel, dabbing at his shirt with delicate precision. “Dammit, I wanted to look nice for Sara tonight,” he curses. “This isn’t going to come out, and it makes me smell like a winery.”

“Maybe she’ll like it?” Geri offers with a shrug.

Sergio scoffs with laughter.

“Don’t you dare laugh at him!” Iker snaps.

“Relax, Iker.” Sergio urges. “We just won the fucking World Cup!”

“We did.” Iker nods. “Yet the pair of you are still acting like children.”

“Come on…” Geri blows air through his lips. “It was just a joke.”

“Jokes are meant to be funny.” Iker rummages in his suitcase, producing a fresh shirt. “Why is it that even tonight of all nights, the two of you just can’t leave each other alone?”

Geri finds himself unable to answer. He searches the back of his mind, because he’s sure a feasible response should automatically be there. “I’ve had a bit too much to drink,” he belatedly mutters in reply.

Sergio’s brown eyes flicker towards him, a small smirk forming on his lips. Geri doesn’t like this look. It’s far too smug, as though Geri coming here to prank him has made Sergio feel even more self-important than he did before.

“Oh, you’ve had a bit too much to drink,” Iker replies cynically. “Whatever the hell’s going on between the two of you, I wish you’d work it out. We’ve won the World Cup and this team is going down in history. Years and years from now people will still be talking about us. You two need to be bonding, not bickering.”

“Don’t lecture us, Ikercio.” Sergio puts his hands over his ears. “Go and enjoy the rest of your night with your lady.”

“I intend to.” Iker nods, lightly spritzing aftershave onto his neck against the mirror. “But if I come back to find out that the two of you have destroyed this room – or each other – then I’m going to be very fucking angry indeed.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” Sergio sighs. “Will I see you later?”

“Hopefully not.” Iker smiles suggestively.

“Have a good night, Iker,” Geri says with sincerity.

They both watch on wordlessly as Iker leaves the room.

Once it’s just the two of them, it’s as though the air in the room has become more heated. Geri stands up, sliding his hands into his pockets. Suddenly, he’s not sure where to put himself or what to do. Ramos is wildly unpredictable at times; perhaps he’s plotting immediate revenge.

“I should go.” Geri gestures towards the door.

“You’re going to leave me here, and make me celebrate all by myself?” Sergio’s eyes widen in surprise.

“A lot of the guys are still in the bar,” Geri replies. “We could head down there.”

“No.” Sergio shakes his head. “Stay here and have a drink with me.”

Briefly, he contemplates turning the offer down. But Sergio is already at the minibar, opening two bottles of beer. It would be rude to decline.

“Okay.” Geri makes a conscious effort not to let his nervousness show. He sits on the end of Iker’s bed, and holds his hand out to accept the drink. “By the way, Sergio,” he continues, “your hair is a mess.”

“By the way, Geri, your prank was pretty amateurish,” he responds. “If you’re truly the best joker the Barcelona dressing room has to offer, then no wonder your team look so miserable all the time.”

A wry smile spreads across Geri’s face. The constant banter between them never gets old. He takes a gulp of beer, watching as Sergio heads over to a hi-fi system that’s situated in the corner of the room. He plugs in his iPod, and the chimes of flamenco music begin to ring in Geri’s ears.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, turn it off!” Geri throws himself onto Iker’s bed dramatically. “It’s like I’ve got a hangover before I’ve even got drunk.”

“What do you mean?” Sergio begins to sway his hips in time to the rhythm. “This is the greatest music in the world.”

“It’s the _worst_ music in the world.” Geri grits his teeth. “Wait a minute – is that you singing?”

Sergio nods proudly. “Some of my fans think I should release my own album.”

“Sese, they’re delusional.” Geri fails to hide his grin.

“Is that so?” Sergio walks towards him, and for a moment, Geri thinks they’re going to end up wrestling again. “Come on, get up. You’re going to dance with me.”

“You want me to dance with you?” Geri is unable to hide his surprise.

“That’s what I said,” Sergio replies with a hint of sarcasm. “Come on, Geri. You pranked me.  Now you can humour me.”

Even the copious amounts of alcohol he’s consumed can’t stop him from feeling a little self-conscious. But Sergio looks pleased as Geri gets on his feet to join him.

“This is not how I expected to spend my last night in South Africa.” Geri starts moving to the music.

“What, dancing with me?” Sergio asks.

“I _never_ thought I’d end up dancing with you,” Geri confesses.

“Do you wish you were somewhere else?” Sergio raises his voice slightly so it can be heard over the hi-fi.

“No.” Geri is taken aback by the immediacy of his own reply.

“Neither do I.”

Geri finds himself reeling from the implications of Sergio’s statement. Their eyes lock, and suddenly the flamenco music fades into the background, as though it isn’t there at all. Geri can hear his own heartbeat and the rushing of blood in his ears.

He pushes himself into Sergio’s arms. Sergio pulls him in without any hesitation.

Geri’s entire body tingles with excitement as they kiss for the first time. He drags his shaking fingers through Sergio’s long hair, whilst his tongue explores his mouth. Soon their soft lips work against each other’s, and Geri can feel himself being dragged towards the bed.

“Do you want me to stop?” Sergio asks breathlessly.

“No,” Geri whispers. “I don’t ever want you to stop.”  
  
  
  
  
_ii._  
_Lithuania, March 29, 2011._  
  
Even though things change after the night they win the World Cup, they also stay the same.

The smell of sweat fills Sergio’s nose as he sits in the dressing room at the Darius and Girėnas Stadium. It’s so warm in contrast to the air outside that it’s suffocating, and the temperature isn’t the only thing getting him heated.

“Sergio, Lithuania have _never_ won the Eurovision Song contest.” Geri sighs dramatically, as he rubs his face with a towel.

“I’m telling you that they _have_ ,” Sergio insists.

“No, they haven’t,” Geri shakes his head. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You’re both being stupid.” Iker groans.

“He just hates the fact that I’m always right.” Sergio smirks. “And that I’m better than him.”

“Well, I’m better at Eurovision Song contest history than you are for a start.” Geri stares over at him suggestively, and Sergio feels something stir deep within him.

Nine months. They’ve been sneaking around for nine whole months now, and no one suspects a thing. Sergio would know if they did.  
  
Keeping such a huge secret is both exhilarating and exhausting. Sometimes, Sergio finds himself caught up in the excitement of it all – the lingering looks Geri gives him over team dinners and the sneaky hook ups they have whenever they get the chance. Things are never dull or repetitive. Then, there are other times when he’s ready to confess everything, and wants to shout about his relationship with Geri from the rooftops.

They’re in love with each other. Perhaps, Sergio thinks, they always have been.

“Enough!” Iker raises his voice. “Will someone put a fucking end to this?”

“Fine,” Fernando says softly. “I’ll google it.”

As Fernando taps away on his phone, Sergio tilts his head towards Geri. He draws himself to his full height, smirking confidently. He knows he’s right about this; he has to be.

“Oh no.” Fernando leans and shows Iker what’s on the screen.

“Lithuania have never won the Eurovision Song contest.” Iker reads the text in monotone. “Their best ever result was when they came sixth in 2006.”

“I knew it!” Geri fist pumps the air in celebration. Several of their teammates roll their eyes in response.

“Wait, was this some kind of bet?” Fernando asks. “What were the stakes?”

Geri rubs his hands together, staring intently at Sergio. “Oh, I’ll cash in later. You can be sure of that.” He smiles smugly, his eyes full of dark promise.

Sergio is quite sure he’s never felt happier.  
  
  
  
  
  
Back at the hotel, the team dinner begins to feel as though it’s lasting an eternity.

 _Make an excuse, so we can get out of here_.

Sergio’s eyes dart from the text message on his phone to the man who has just sent it. Geri is sitting on the opposite side of the table to him, drumming his fingers against his wineglass impatiently.

“Actually, I might head up to bed guys.” Sergio yawns, stretching his arms out. He tries to make the gesture casually.

“Are you kidding? It’s not even midnight yet.” Iker helps himself to cheese and olives from the tapas plate. He slowly slides the food off the stick and into his mouth, chewing as he talks. “And you’re always picking on me for being the old one.”

“Yeah.” Fernando nods. “I feel as though I hardly get to see you these days, Sergio.”

“Well there’s a reason for that,” Sergio replies. “Kind of.” And for a moment, he actually contemplates doing it. He’s going to come clean about him and Geri being together.

Geri’s eyes widen in surprise, and Sergio jumps when he feels him nudge his leg from underneath the table. He can see the worry etched on his boyfriend’s face.

“Do enlighten us.” Iker grins, relaxing back in his chair. If Sergio didn’t know better, he’d think Iker had been anticipating this.

Sergio swallows hard. What was he thinking? When he tells Fernando and Iker about his relationship with Geri, it needs to be done privately. This is far too public. Xavi, David Silva and Andrés are sitting at the table too, their eyes on Sergio as they wait for his revelation.

“Nothing.” Sergio waves his hand dismissively. “I’ve just been busy.”

There is a collective sigh.

“Well, as exciting as this has been, I think I’m going to call it a night.” Geri gets to his feet.

“Party pooper.” Iker makes a whining noise. “I hope the rest of you aren’t going to give in so easily.”

“Stay for another glass of wine, Sese,” Fernando says. “After all, we’ll be flying home in the morning.”

Even though he wants to spend time with his friends, Sergio can’t help but lament the fact that Geri is walking away.

 _I’ll get away as soon as I can_ , he texts to him later. _Once Iker is asleep, I’ll sneak out and come to your room_.

But tonight, as Sergio discovers, his teammates are feeling very talkative. Time runs away from him, and it’s 4 a.m. when he finally makes it upstairs.

“It’s barely worth it.” Geri’s groggy face appears at the door. “We literally have two or three hours left to spend together, tops.”

“You’ve spent the last nine months flying from Barcelona to Madrid just to spend a couple of hours with me at a time,” Sergio replies. “And vice versa.”

Geri’s lips remain pursed together, the corners downturned. Sergio thinks he looks quite boyish when he pulls this face, as though he thinks that by being stubborn he will get his way.

“It’s not fair.” Geri pouts.

Sergio wraps his arms around his waist, but Geri’s body remains rigid against his.

“If you’d just let me tell people we’re together…” Sergio sighs.

“We can’t.” Geri rests his head on Sergio’s shoulder. “However the two of us feel about each other, it’s better this way.”

“Anyone would think sneaking around all the time gets you off.” Sergio snorts.

“It’s not that.” He scrunches his nose.

“Then what is it?” Sergio asks. “What are you so afraid of?”

“What _aren’t_ I afraid of?” Geri blows air through his mouth noisily. “People wouldn’t understand about us being a couple. They’d talk about us being together, rather than talk about us as footballers.”

Sergio’s face drops in realisation. “It could hurt our families.”

“Exactly.” Geri nods. “At the moment, the media think of us as enemies, two men who only get along when we play for the national team because we have to.”

“And you think it’s better to let them believe that’s the truth.”

“I think it protects both of us,” Geri replies. “Imagine the pressure we’d be under if it got out – it’d end up driving us apart. I don’t want to let that happen.”

“Me neither.” Sergio wraps his arms around Geri’s waist. “But it isn’t fair. None of this is fair.”

“I know,” Geri says softly, stroking Sergio’s face with the palm of his hand.

“I still think our closest friends would understand.”

“Perhaps.” Geri’s voice is wavering. “Maybe we’ll be able to tell them soon.”

Sergio says nothing, because deep down, he knows that they won’t.  
  
  
  
  
  
_iii._  
_Donetsk, June 27, 2012._  
  
Geri can’t quite believe his eyes when he sees Sergio standing in the doorway of his hotel room mere hours after the Portugal match.

“What did you tell Iker?” Geri asks. “Did you wait until he’d fallen asleep?”

“Screw Iker.” Sergio grunts, pushing his way forward into the room. “It’s you I want.”

All Geri’s thoughts of the Real Madrid goalkeeper evaporate as Sergio devours his mouth, barely giving him a chance to draw breath. It’s as though Sergio’s cleverly chipped in penalty against the Seleccao has acted like an aphrodisiac.

It was all planned, Geri knows that. This was Sergio’s way of showing the world his penalty miss against Bayern Munich didn’t harm him, and things couldn’t have turned out any better. Geri isn’t sure whether Sergio is just crazy or extremely clever – he’s probably a combination of both. But at the end of the day, Sergio has proved to everybody that he has the heart of a lion. He’s a warrior – _Geri’s_ warrior, and he’s never felt prouder of him.

He pushes Geri towards the bed with unprecedented dominance. It makes him feel weak at the knees. Sergio leans back and makes a show of removing his t-shirt, revealing the rippling muscles underneath. Geri runs his long fingers up his chest, and over Sergio’s rapidly beating heart. It’s as though he can feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

For a moment, Geri is awestruck.

“I know, baby.” Sergio smirks. “I get that kind of reaction a lot.”

“Would you rather do this on your own?” Geri asks, but he knows Sergio can see straight through his act.

“Where would the fun be in that?” He replies defiantly.

  
  
  
  
  
“Stay,” Geri whispers, staring at his boyfriend under the dimmed lights. “Please. Just for a while.”

Sergio murmurs something inaudible in response, yet he doesn’t move from the bed. Geri is infinitely grateful that he doesn’t deny them this quiet moment of reflection after their explosive night together.

It’s rare they ever lie together like this, in silence. Usually there’s the constant banter between them, the back and forth one-upmanship, with both men equally invested in maintaining their competitive edge.

It isn’t like that tonight.

Geri reaches up and touches Sergio’s newly cropped hair; it feels soft and silky under his fingertips. He’s still not used to his longer locks not being there, but he likes this new look too. He leans his head on his chest, aimlessly tracing his fingers around the outline of one of Sergio’s tattoos. It seems that each time they meet, he’s added more ink to his collection.

Sergio hums contentedly, closing his eyes.

The sound of drunken laughter and footsteps running down the corridor outside the room rouses them both.

“What the fuck was that?” Sergio sits up.

“It sounds as though we’re missing the party of the year.” Geri grins.

“No, I’d rather be here.”

“Me too,” Geri replies.

For the first time in the two years they’ve been a couple, they spend the entire night together whilst on international duty.  
  
  
  
  
  
They arrive at team breakfast the next morning separately, but within seconds of one another. Geri hopes no one saw them leave the same room, because he can’t be sure of it. It’s impossible not to feel self-conscious as he strides towards the breakfast table, but when Geri sees the glum faces of his teammates, he knows something else must’ve happened overnight. He can practically smell the drama in the air.

“You didn’t make it back to our room last night,” Iker whispers to Sergio. “Where were you?”

“I…” Sergio stumbles.

“Oh, Sergio.” Iker blows air out of his mouth. “Please don’t tell me you were involved.”

“Involved in what?” The question comes out of Geri’s mouth before he has chance to think his words over. He doesn’t even have any business being involved in their conversation.

“Last night’s shenanigans.” Iker’s eyes dart towards him. “There was a band in the hotel bar. Some of the guys hooked up with girls and things were stolen from various people’s rooms.”

Geri and Sergio exchange a look. So _that_ was what all the noise was about. Now it makes sense.

“Del Bosque is on the fucking warpath and I can’t vouch for you because you went missing, Sergio.” Iker frowns. “He says he expects complete transparency from me, because I’m one of the veterans of the team. God dammit, why is it that there’s always trouble when it comes to you?”

“I wasn’t at the party.” Sergio shrugs.

“Then please tell me where you were,” Iker replies.

Geri shifts uncomfortably in his chair. There’s an almost fatherly worry in Iker’s eyes as he waits for Sergio’s answer.

“I don’t want to get you into trouble.” Iker looks at him pleadingly. “Come on, I’m your best friend. You can tell me the truth. I’ll still cover for you.”

Sergio swallows hard, rubbing his facial hair. “Maybe I was at the party after all,” he says with resignation.

Iker’s face drops, and guilt rises in Geri’s stomach.

“Sergio!” Geri interrupts, staring at him with desperate eyes.

“Geri, please stay out of this.” He meets his gaze, but only briefly. “It isn’t any of your concern.”  
  
  
  
  
  
“What’s this?” Sergio turns the wad of money over in his hands, looking at it with confusion. “Have you been gambling again?”

“It’s to pay for your fine.”

“Geri, it’s €10,000,” Sergio replies. “We’re both millionaires. All the other guys know the fine is a joke.”

“You’re being punished for attending a party you never went to.” Geri raises his voice. “And it’s because of me. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“It’s just like you said.” Sergio’s eyes are downcast. “Things are better this way.”

Geri begins to wonder if they really are.  
  
  
  
  
  
_iv.  
Curitiba, June 23 rd 2014._

They’ve had the privilege of celebrating so many victories together, but now they console one another in defeat.

“I can’t believe we’re going home this early.” Geri’s eyes are still red from the tears they’ve shared in private. Sergio thinks that if any of the fans who doubt Piqué’s dedication to the national team could see him now, then they’d eat their words.

“Perhaps we started to believe in our own hype too much.” Sergio throws the thought out there casually.

“We both know that’s not true.” Geri shakes his head, before nuzzling against Sergio’s shoulder. “Now isn’t the time for any of us to be searching for answers, even though most of us will.”

Sergio rests his head on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “I wanted this so much – not just for the team, but for us.”

“To celebrate the fact that we got together at the last World Cup?” Geri smiles softly. “You’re such a romantic.”

“Four years,” Sergio says. “Four years I’ve put up with you.”

“Did you think we’d last this long when you slept with me on that first night in South Africa?” Geri asks.

“Yes,” Sergio replies without hesitation. “It was different with you, right from the very beginning.”

He closes his eyes contentedly as he feels Geri’s soft, full lips brushing against his neck.

“How so?” Geri murmurs expectantly.

Sergio just knew he’d ask him to elaborate. Geri thrives on the attention. “I’d never had such a strong desire both to sleep with and to murder somebody before.”

He and Geri exchange a look, and simultaneously collapse into fits of laughter. The sound is like music to Sergio’s ears after what’s been such a solemn evening. They turn to face one another, and though Sergio’s heart aches with sadness, he also feels joy.

He lowers his lips to Geri’s ear. “Let’s not allow tonight to slip away from us both completely.”

From the coy look Geri gives him in reply, Sergio knows he understands exactly what he’s thinking.

Sergio’s body stirs as they kiss deeply, tasting each other’s mouths. He reaches over the edge of the bed, blindly fumbling for his bag, not wanting to break his contact with Geri. His fingers find the box of condoms, and he lifts them onto the bedside table.

Geri leans back and moans, and Sergio kisses along his throat. He feels as though he’s floating, like his senses are anticipating the deluge of pleasure that’s about to come.

There’s a click as the door is about to be unlocked.

“Shit!” Sergio exclaims. “It’s Iker!”

“I thought you said he wouldn’t be back for ages yet.” Geri is red-faced and sweating, his eyes wild with panic. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Get under the bed,” Sergio whispers, gesturing frantically.

“I’m too tall!” Geri’s tone is sharp. “My limbs will stick out at the end.”

“Then I’ll cover you.” Sergio ushers Geri under the edge of the bed. It’s barely done in the nick of time as the door handle moves, and Iker’s face appears from behind it.

“Hey.” Sergio tries his best to appear relaxed, as he sprawls out across the duvet.

“How are you doing?” The words are said kindly by Iker, but Sergio can see his bloodshot eyes and his downcast expression. Clearly, Iker is heartbroken.

“I feel like I should be asking how you are,” Sergio replies softly, all the while conscious of the fact that Geri is mere inches away from him. “This has hit you hard, hasn’t it?”

A jolt of worry surges through Sergio as he watches Iker move towards him. He can just imagine one of Geri’s big feet sticking out at the side of the bed. Any second now, he expects Iker to find him, and for the game to be up once and for all. He breathes a sigh of relief as Iker sits on his own bed, directly opposite.

“It feels like the end of an era,” Iker replies. “I know we all have to accept change, but in football, things change so quickly.”

“Too quickly, but it’s not something either of us can control,” Sergio says. “You shouldn’t worry about it.”

“Maybe I won’t make it to the next World Cup.”

“Don’t say that.”

Iker sighs, lying back on his bed.

“Iker,” Sergio whispers, and for once in his life he isn’t sure what he should say. Iker is his best friend and his mentor, the one person he’s trusted with everything but the truth about his relationship. “None of us know what the future holds.”

From underneath him, Sergio hears Geri shifting position. He knows he must be getting increasingly uncomfortable.

“ _Oh_.” Iker widens his eyes, picking up the box of condoms. Sergio curses himself for forgetting to put them away. “What are these doing here?”

“I haven’t got a clue.” Sergio shrugs.

“So, you haven’t been getting laid?” Iker asks.

“I should be so lucky.” Sergio sighs.

“Well, the writing on the box is in Portuguese so you definitely got these over here.”

“What are you now, a detective?”

“Let’s see.” Iker continues to examine the box, pulling it open. “It’s a pack of twelve, but there are – “

“Iker, what the hell is wrong with you?” Sergio interrupts, his face turning crimson.

Iker is counting aloud.

“Iker, stop this!”

“Nine!” He says. “There are only nine condoms left. Which means you’ve used three of them.”

“It means nothing,” Sergio replies. “Because they’re not mine.”

“Of course they’re not.” Iker laughs. “You sly devil.”

Sergio covers his face with his hands. “Can we not do this?”

It’s several minutes before Iker’s laughter dies down.

“Well, as exciting as this has been, I think I might try and sleep for a while,” Iker says. “I need to try to get some rest. It’s been a heavy night… in more ways than one.”

“No!” Sergio answers reflexively, feeling his stomach tense. “Let me run you a bath or something first.”

“I don’t really feel like it.” Iker shakes his head. “Besides, I took a shower right after the match, just like everyone else did.”

Sergio swallows hard, racking his brain to find a solution. Geri shifts again, this time more noisily.

“Did you hear something?” Iker sits up, scanning the room with his eyes.

“Nothing at all,” Sergio tries to reply calmly, but inwardly, he is panicking.

“It came from in here, I’m sure of it,” Iker insists. “It sounded like someone moving around.”

“Maybe it’s whoever’s in the room above us?” Sergio starts to sweat.

“No, the noise was from below us,” Iker’s eyes dart around the room.

“What do you think it was?”

“What if someone got in here?” Iker gets up to his feet. “Someone from the press, or something like that? We’re forever being warned about this kind of thing. The room could be bugged.”

“Now you’re being paranoid.” Sergio rolls his eyes.

“Just because I’m paranoid it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get me. I don’t want my name all over the bloody press, my private thoughts out there for the whole world to read about.”

“Iker, that’s not going to happen.”

“Perhaps I should call security, get them to take a look around the place.”

“No, don’t do that.” Sergio puts his hands on his head. “Go to sleep, Iker. We’re both tired.”

Geri’s phone vibrates from underneath the bed. Sergio almost leaps off it, such is his surprise.

“If you want me to go to sleep, then switch your fucking phone off.”  
  
  
  
  
  
Sergio listens to Iker’s breathing, willing it to slow to the lull that indicates sleep. After almost an hour, he figures Iker is finally out for the count.

“Come on,” he whispers to Geri, as quietly as he possibly can.

Geri’s joints are so stiff he can barely move, and Sergio hears him groan as he gets to his feet. He pushes him out of the door in a few seconds, closing it softly behind him.

Neither of them see that Iker is perfectly awake and smirking in the darkness.  
  
  
  
  
  
_v._  
_Oviedo, September 5 th, 2015._  
  
Three months have passed since Barcelona won the treble, and Sergio’s long since forgotten about Geri infuriating Real Madrid fans with his celebratory speech.

But the rest of Spain haven’t.

Geri gets booed at training, when he leaves the team bus, and at practice. During the match against Slovakia, the jeers seem to reach an all-time high. None of the rest of _La Roja_ are immune to the drama Piqué has caused – it becomes the focal point of the game, and by the time the clock hits ninety minutes, Sergio’s blood is boiling.

He’s sick and tired of the two things he loves the most being in conflict.  
  
  
  
  
  
“Well, I don’t like it.” Sergio recognises Jordi’s voice as he enters the changing room. “I don’t agree with them booing you or anyone else on the team. It’s a distraction.”

“Thanks, man.” Geri nods as he wipes himself down with a towel. “I appreciate it.”

“People are insane,” Cesc says. “How do they think it’s going to help the rest of us, by whistling you out of the building?”

“I just have to ride out the storm,” Geri says quietly. “They’ll get bored of it eventually.”

Sergio feels the familiar sensation of rage building from deep within him. It’s as though his entire body is overheating. He wants to punch something or someone, because the situation is so maddening.

“Sergio, you look terrible,” Iker says with fatherly concern. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sergio feels his heart rate increasing. He heads straight towards the showers.

The hot water cascades over his muscles, dripping onto the floor, warming his freckled skin. He allows the sound of the water pressure to fill his ears.

“Sergio?”

He knows it’s too soon for him to face Geri. He hasn’t calmed down nearly enough yet. It’s times like these when Sergio can’t trust himself not to say or do things he’ll later regret.

But Geri is here now, peering at him from around the corner of the tiles.

“You’ve barely spoken to me all night.” Geri frowns. “Is everything okay?”

“No, Geri,” Sergio replies. “It isn’t.” He turns the water off, wrapping a towel around his waist.

“I won’t always be public enemy number one,” he says softly.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t say things that provoked people then you wouldn’t _be_ public enemy number one in the first place.” Sergio raises his voice.

“What?” Geri’s mouth opens in surprise, but Sergio senses his dismay.

“You have no idea of what you’ve put me through tonight,” Sergio snaps.

“It’s not exactly been a ball for me,” Geri replies.

“Why do you have to be so infuriating?” His voice echoes in the shower room. “You know how hard people like Iker and Xavi have fought to keep this national team together. You know how much it means to me to get to play by your side.”

Sergio can see Geri’s blue eyes glittering with emotion. They move to face one another, neither daring to speak.

“Come on, you two,” Iker says quietly, walking into the shower area. “This isn’t the time or the place. Everybody’s listening.”

The hairs on the back of Sergio’s neck stand on end. It’s too late to worry about how much Iker and the others may have overheard. Too late, because the damage has already been done.

“If you would just take accountability, then I could defend you.” He looks straight at Geri. “I could make them see…” He leaves the words hanging.  
  
“Oh, Sergio.” Iker’s face is unreadable, but he gently rests a hand on Sergio’s shoulder.

Geri steps backwards, his eyes darting from Iker to Sergio. “I’m done here,” he says shakily, before turning to walk away.

Sergio knows nothing is going to change. Geri is always going to be Geri, and other than the fleeting moments they spend together on international break, they’re always destined to be on opposite sides.

But it won’t stop Sergio from being with him.  
  
  
  
  
  
“I won’t apologise for who I am,” Geri says, as he lets Sergio into his room later that night. “But I will apologise for the fact that my actions hurt you.”

Sergio didn’t expect such immediate candor.

“I won’t change who I am either,” he replies. “And I won’t stop fighting for Madrid. Yet at the same time, I don’t want to stop fighting for you. For us.”

Geri flashes him the smallest of smiles. “Stubborn until the end.”

“No.” Sergio shakes his head. “I’ve just made peace with the fact that it’s never going to be simple for us. Perhaps it would be boring if it was.”

“That’s a very deep thought, especially for you.”

“See?” Sergio’s eyes light up. “There’s the man I fell in love with.”

Sergio allows himself to sink into Geri’s arms.  
  
  


_vi._  
_Schruns, Austria, 28 th May 2016._  
  
Geri doesn’t expect to find himself watching the Champions League final with Iker.

“I just want to see you sweating,” Iker says as they settle down onto the couch in one of the communal rooms at their base camp.

“I’m not really interested in the result.” Geri shrugs, but as both Madrid teams make their way out onto the pitch the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He clears his throat hastily. “I mean, obviously, I want Real to lose.”

“Of course you do.” Iker purses his lips together, absently handing Geri a bottle of beer.

As the camera pans in on Sergio for the first time, carrying out his captain’s duties, Geri gulps down a large mouthful of the alcohol. Truth be told, he could do with something stronger.

“Come on, boys!” Iker claps his hands together as the opening whistle sounds. He’s already sitting on the edge of his seat, a mixture of hope and expectation written across his face. Geri can’t help but feel a little sorry for him; Iker is still a Madridista through and through, and it must be hard for him not to be there – to be living vicariously through his former teammates.

Always a competitor by nature, Geri pulls his best poker face, willing his features to give away nothing. When Real start to dominate the possession in the early stages of the game an increasing feeling of annoyance gnaws away at his stomach. Each time Sergio is involved in the match, his heart leaps.

“So close!” Iker reacts passionately as Casemiro’s shot is cleared off the line by Oblak.

“I still think this is Atlético’s year,” Geri says with more conviction than he feels. “They’ve just got to deal with this early onslaught.”

But Real’s domination continues, and with it, Geri’s unease increases. He too is on the edge of his seat now, all his instincts as a footballer telling him that a goal is very, very close. He fidgets, feeling as though he doesn’t know where to put himself. His fingers start to work at the paper label on the beer bottle, picking at it furiously.

He knows Toni’s free kick is dangerous, but he doesn’t make out much of what’s going on in the subsequent scramble in the penalty box. Geri doesn’t even know who’s scored the goal until Iker starts yelling.

“Sergiooooooooooooo!” Iker screams, jumping into the air and fist pumping. “¡Vamossss!”

Geri’s heart thuds in his chest. He wants to be sick. He watches Sergio – _his_ Sergio – celebrating with his teammates, and once again finds himself in quite a predicament. He doesn’t want Real Madrid to win, but he doesn’t want Sergio to lose.

“It was offside,” he says. “The referee would have never let it stand if it was Barcelona playing.”

Iker turns his head to look at Geri closely. “Is that so?” He smirks. “Such sour grapes.”

“It’s fucking bullshit.” Geri’s lips twist. Inwardly, all he can think about is Sergio, and how much this goal must mean to him. He starts to bite his nails.  
  
  
  
  
  
“Pepe… now Pepe is fucking solid, I’m telling you,” Iker says, at the beginning of the second half.

After Iker’s declaration, Pepe immediately gives away a penalty. Geri collapses onto the couch, unable to keep a straight face.

“Iker, has anyone ever told you that you’re bad luck?” Geri manages to get the words out between such forceful snorts of laughter that they make his ribs hurt.

Yet it doesn’t take long for him to start feeling nervous again, and as the match draws to an end, with no goals having been scored in extra time, Geri doesn’t have any nails left to bite off. Penalty shootouts are always great for spectators, he thinks, but they’re dreadfully cruel for the footballers. Neither Madrid side deserves to lose.

“Sergio lives for moments like this,” Iker says. Geri can see the pride in his eyes.

“So does Cristiano.” Geri sighs sarcastically. His mind races – he wants Sergio to score his penalty, he doesn’t give a damn about the rest of them. “Besides, we’ve both seen how hard Sergio works practising his spot kicks.”

“We’ve both seen Sergio go through a lot,” Iker replies.

“That’s true,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. He focuses on the television screen, watching as both teams huddle together, psyching themselves up for the shootout.

“You see this?” Iker asks, pulling at his thinning hairline. “All of this is because of Sergio. I had a full head of hair before I met him. With every red card, and every penalty he gave away, more and more of it started to fall out.” There’s a softness to his voice that isn’t usually evident, as though the bravado he’s been keeping up throughout the rest of the game is slipping away.

Geri laughs half-heartedly.

“But I know it’s been much harder for you than it has been for me,” Iker says gently.

The penalties are underway now; Vázquez and Griezmann have already slotted home, and Marcelo is walking towards the spot. Yet neither Geri nor Iker are concentrating on the events in Milan anymore.

“I have no idea what you mean.” Geri’s mouth is completely dry.

“Yes, you do.”

Marcelo scores. Gabi too. Now Bale is stepping up for Real.

Geri rubs at his beard, searching his brain for the kind of smart comeback that’s normally there. He finds he has nothing left to say; no witty excuses to cover up for what’s been going on between Sergio and him for all these years. Perhaps, he’s tired of having to use them.

“It’s 3-3,” Geri makes the observation aloud, as Saúl manages to outsmart Navas.

“We both know who’ll be next.” Iker smiles confidently. “Here he is, the man himself.”

The camera pans in on Sergio. Geri’s heart involuntarily skips a beat. _Just let him score_ , Geri thinks to himself, _please, don’t let him miss this_.

Time seems to slow down as Sergio places the ball on the spot, his brown eyes sparkling as he stares across at Oblak.

He shoots… and he scores.

“Yes!” Iker leaps onto his feet, jumping up and down on the spot.

Geri remains frozen, as though he daren’t betray any hint of emotion.

“God dammit, Geri.” Iker pats him on the back. “You’re allowed to be happy for him, you know. It doesn’t make you any less of a Culé.”

“Iker, you’re being really weird.” Geri furrows his brows, trying to appear puzzled, but he knows exactly what Iker is talking about.  
  
“Just promise you’ll look after him for me,” Iker says. “Furthermore, promise me you’ll look after each other.”

By now, Cristiano has already scored the winning penalty and Real are celebrating wildly in the centre of the pitch.

“This is probably going to be my last major tournament for the international team.” Iker sighs sadly. “He’ll need you even more than he already does when I’m gone. He doesn’t like to admit how needy he is, but then again, that’s Sergio.”

“Stubborn, hot-headed, unpredictable Sergio.” Geri breathes heavily. “But he’s also one of the most loving and courageous people you could ever hope to know.”

“The ironic thing is,” Iker says. “You could be talking about yourself, Geri. You and he have so much more in common than divides you.”

“When did he tell you?” Geri asks, painfully aware of the fact he is shaking. “About us?”

“He didn’t.”

“Then how…?”

“He didn’t need to tell me.” Iker shakes his head. “I just knew. I think I’ve always known.”

“And you don’t disapprove?” After all this time, Geri still has to ask.

“Of course I don’t!” Iker pulls a face. “Why would I? I just want both of you to be happy.”

“He makes me very happy,” Geri replies. “Well, sometimes he infuriates me too, but mostly, he makes me happy.”

Iker laughs heartily, and Geri finds himself joining in.

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand.” Iker turns to look at him. “Why all of this sneaking around? Why couldn’t you tell us, your friends and your teammates, the truth?”

“Because it’s one thing to come out as a gay man,” Geri says. “It’s quite another to admit that I’m in love with Sergio, the man who’s supposed to be my biggest rival.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Iker look so sad before.

“Bullshit,” Iker replies. “I’m not putting up with any rubbish from either of you anymore. You’re both acting like children, the pair of you. Honestly, do I have to do everything around here?”  
  
  
  
  
  
It ends, much as it began, with a practical joke. But this time Iker is in on it.

Sergio walks tiredly into the hotel lobby, feeling as though the events of the last few days are finally beginning to catch up with him.

 _Come up to our room, I want to hear everything about the Champions League win_.

He stares at the text from Iker, trying to swallow his disappointment. He hoped he’d get to spend tonight with Geri. It’s been weeks since they had any quality time together, and he misses him so much, it’s almost like a physical ache in his chest. He thinks about texting Geri, to tell him that he’ll be there just as soon as he can, but he doesn’t want to let him down. Not again.  
  
_Seriously, where the hell are you? I can’t wait for us to have a long talk._

Jeez, Iker is being especially insistent tonight.

Sergio takes the elevator, and walks up the corridor, his bag slung over his back. He’s looking at the numbers of the rooms, trying to find the one they’ve designated for him and Iker.

“There you are.” Iker is standing outside the door, his arms folded. “What’s with the long face? Anyone would think you have somewhere else you’d rather be.”

“Not at all.” Sergio pulls Iker into a hug, kissing either cheek. “Don’t be silly.”

“You’ve always been a bad liar.” Iker smirks. “It’s a good thing I can see right through you.”

“Iker, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You should go in there, he’s waiting for you.” Iker points to the door.

Sergio’s jaw drops.

“Go on, you idiot.” Iker opens the door, and pushes Sergio towards it. “Be happy. You both deserve it.”

The first thing Sergio hears is his own singing voice. It’s the flamenco music he played to Geri on the night they won the World Cup. It gives him chills.

“Buenas noches,” Geri calls out from inside the room. “Aren’t you going to come in and dance with me?”

“Geri, you hate this music.” But Sergio allows himself to be led into the dance, watching as he and Geri both swing their hips in time to the melody.

“Perhaps it’s growing on me,” Geri says, leaning across to place a tender kiss on Sergio’s lips. “Fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Sergio leans on Geri’s shoulder.

“I’m so proud of you,” Geri says. “Even if it does mean Real had to win the undecima.”

“I’m not going to let you forget about it for a very long time.”

“But you didn’t win the treble.”

They both laugh.

“Wait… what are you doing here?” Sergio realises he’s been so swept up by the moment that he’s almost lost his grip on reality. “Oh my God… Iker knows about us?”

Sergio steps backwards in surprise, but as he looks around the room he sees the rose petals scattered across the bed, and a dinner for two laid out on the table. His face breaks out into a wide smile.

“Iker helped me plan all of this.” Geri grins. “He watches a lot of rom coms, you know.”

“It’s perfect.” Sergio blinks back tears. “All of it.”

“We won’t be doing this forever, and one day we won’t be in the spotlight anymore.” Geri thinks back to his earlier conversation with Iker. “It’s time for us to stop sneaking about, at least around our friends. They want to support us. We should let them.”

And for now, Sergio knows he has everything he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I may or may not have been inspired by [this](http://68.media.tumblr.com/e7336dc96a2995f71ab132ada3faa46e/tumblr_ncqg19yUgP1qiy96so7_250.gif) version of Iker.
> 
> 2\. The party mentioned in the third section (Donetsk) is based on something that did actually happen. However, it took place in 2013, a year later than I've written here. 
> 
> 3\. Iker and Geri genuinely did watch the Champions League final together in 2016, and Iker's comment about Pepe plus Geri's comment about Iker being bad luck are legit.


End file.
